


Counting the Days

by callunavulgari



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time that she kisses him, he is sixteen years old and fidgety in his own skin. Some nights they sleep under rotting ceilings—old barns in the countryside that are a mere blip on the radar of passing cars. Other nights they sleep in the sand, just far enough up the beach that high tide licks at their toes. They are free and homeless and her brother lived years without her, so every day counts as two to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting the Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [antistar_e (kaikamahine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaikamahine/gifts).



> Tumblr kissing meme. Elizabeth asked for hipbone kisses.

If she were a different person, she supposes that she’d feel guiltier about her brother being between her thighs. If she hadn’t decided to wait around for just a little longer, so that her and Nico could be reborn together—if she hadn’t been there to see her brother’s face light up when he found her in the Underworld, when he took her hand and told her that death was on vacation, things could have turned out very different. But she’s not a different person. She was _there_ when Nico came looking for her and the look of joy on his face when he tugged her back to the surface is something that she won’t soon forget.

The first time that she kisses him, he is sixteen years old and fidgety in his own skin. Some nights they sleep under rotting ceilings—old barns in the countryside that are a mere blip on the radar of passing cars. Other nights they sleep in the sand, just far enough up the beach that high tide licks at their toes. They are free and homeless and her brother lived years without her, so every day counts as two to them.

She doesn’t think about anything else; she figures that she kind of owes Nico anyways, since the last time she was away from him, she died.

So he’s sixteen years old when she first kisses him; lying in slightly damp grass somewhere on the globe. She never asks him where they’re going, when he takes her hand and tugs her through the shadows. It’s more fun that way. Sometimes they make a game out of it and time her—see how long it’ll take for her to realize where they are. Right now she’s guessing somewhere in Europe, but she hasn’t seen any signs yet, so she can’t cheat and figure out what the language is.

He isn’t sleeping, she knows, and his hand is tucked into hers like he’s afraid to let her go. She glances at him, ready to show him the ladybug that’s crawled onto her thumbnail, and her breath is knocked loose from her body at the way he’s looking at her—as if she’s the last person in the world who truly matters.

He is sixteen and she’s only been breathing again for a little over two years, but every day counts as two, so she decides that guilt isn’t her kind of emotion and rolls closer to him, until their heads are pressed together.

She searches his face and thinks that he’s never been this hard to read, her brother. When he was young, looking at him was like reaching into his head and scooping out his thoughts. This new Nico, the one who spent years without her, is someone different. She’s learning him, slowly, nowhere near fast enough.

Another moment, and she finds what she’s looking for, nodding decisively and gently cupping his chin so she can draw his lips to hers.

It isn’t the stuff of legends. A sharp thrill goes down her spine at the noise he makes—so desperate, as if he’s wanted this for months but has been too afraid to say anything—but there’s little in the way of finesse. When she was very young, she remembers kissing both of his cheeks, the way mother did, but beyond that, she is out of her element. No boy has ever touched her lips and despite what Apollo would say about the hunters of Artemis, no girl has either.

They spend some time just lying there, touching hesitantly. Her body is aging again, now that she’s no longer a huntress, but she’s strangely aware of the fact that her body is younger than Nico’s. She wonders if this makes her the younger sibling now, but stops that train of thought when Nico shakily drags his fingers down the curve of her waist.

She considers backing off when she realizes that she can feel evidence of Nico’s arousal against her thigh and hesitates for a fraction of a second before deciding that she doesn’t give a damn.

She helps him undress, then helps him undress her, until their skin is pressed together. He kisses a line down her body—tucks one between her breasts, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin, another on the curve of her belly, and yet another to the sharp jut of her hipbone. His tongue rasps against her skin and she lets her eyes flutter close as he kisses the inside of her thigh.

_Every day counts as two_ , she thinks, curling her fingers in her brother’s hair and arching up into him. _We might as well make the most of it._


End file.
